


Double or Nothing

by Jakaboi



Category: Markiplier's Egos - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Russian Roulette, egos sustained by belief of fans, obviously someone is going to get shot, several someones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14699169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakaboi/pseuds/Jakaboi
Summary: Wilford wants to play a little game of Russian Roulette. Thanks to a little light blackmail, the table is full. Where's the harm? After all the fans can bring them back.





	Double or Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr - beenpxshedaside

Of course it was Wilford’s idea and he has enough blackmail material on the others to be able to fill the table.

The game show host, Bim, is among them, smiling and babbling with nervous energy. Externally he’s fine, internally he’s shitting himself and already, mentally speaking, he’s lost.

Google sits next to him, glaring at Wilford for forcing his involvement. It’s a stupid idea, they’re all going to die and he’s going to lose an entire day of functionality, bare minimum.

On Bim’s other side, the Host. He’s only allowed to take part if he doesn’t use his narrations, unfair advantage and all that. He seems to be on board, though the way he’s smiling is unnerving some of the others.

Next to the Host there’s Dr Iplier who’s already pissed everybody off with all the ‘you’re dying’ jokes he keeps cracking. If he’s not careful, Dark is going to smack him soon.

Of course the lead ego is involved, because of course whatever it is Wilford has on him is juicy and secret and not for the ears of others. He’s sat there, a mix of disinterest and anger just peeling off him.

Wilford is number 6, sat between Dark and Google, beaming at everybody present.  Only the ones strong enough to be brought back by the fandom are allowed to participate, at Dark’s insistence. There’s no point risking any of the weaker egos being lost. Despite their seeming useless, everybody has their part to play.

The Rules are simple, Wilford tells them. When it’s your turn, you shoot. No exceptions. The winner is the last one standing. He takes out his gun and loads it with just one bullet, spinning the chamber before he clicks it into place.

“Lead by example.” he says as he raises it to his forehead and he pulls the trigger.

-click-

Google is disinterested as he takes the weapon and holds it to his own head, having done the calculations and feeling reassured as he shoots.

-click-

Bim’s fingers are shaking. He’d flinched at both the clicks and he gives a faux-confident grin as he holds it to his own head.

-BANG-

Nobody expected it to be that soon and they all fall into a hushed silence as they look at the slumped form of the TV show host.

Wilford reaches forward and pries the gun from Bim’s fingers and spins another bullet into it, holding it out and directing the Host to take it. This is the game they’re playing. They knew what they were getting into with this.

Without his narrations, the Host fumbles as he takes the gun but he’s stoic as ever as he holds it to his head.

-click-

Dr Iplier has gone quiet, side-eyeing Bim as he takes the weapon. No more jokes. He screws his eyes shut as he pulls the trigger.

-click-

Dark takes the gun, still angry, planning to make Wilford pay for wasting their time with this useless endeavour. He doesn’t flinch.

-click-

Wilford is excited as it returns to him. Not even hesitating to put it against his temple.

-BANG-

Google jumps away, Dr Iplier pushes his chair back, the Host flinches and looks on in shock. Dark’s indifference has gone, replaced by shock as well. None of them expected that. Most of them figured Wilford would win. They looked between each other.

Dark takes the gun from Wilford’s hand, wiping the grip with a handkerchief and taking the bullets from the pink man’s pockets. He reloads the gun and holds it out to Google who just stares at it. 

“We…we could stop.” Dr Iplier said. Wilford isn’t there to enforce this game any more.

“What do you think he’ll do when he comes back and finds out we stopped?” Their secrets wouldn’t stay secrets for long. They were all bound in this game. Until the end.

Google is reluctant. Though the odds are in his favor, this game is a lot worse than he imagined it would be.

-click-

Again the Host fumbles, having to be directed. Agreeing not to use his narrations seems a bad idea now.

-click-

Dr Iplier doesn’t want to think any more. Thinking that if he’s going to die, he wants it over and done with.

-click-

Dark is mad. Stuck in this game by a dead idiot. The sooner it’s over, the sooner things can get back to normal.

-click-

Google is hesitant to reach again. The odds this time are bad. They are very bad and he’s slow as he raises the gun to his head. Quickly, he saves a backup of himself to the buildings cloud network.

-BANG-

This time none of them flinch though the Dr looks like he’s going to be sick as Dark reaches to reload the gun again. Dark notices and promises him that they can get Wilford back after this is all over.

The gun is once again passed to the Host

-click-

He passes it to the doctor who is doing everything he can not to pray to whatever deity it is that he doesn’t believe in. He’s a doctor. A man of science. A-

-BANG-

That was a short round. Now it’s just Dark and the Host.

Soon this game will be over. One of them will be alive, the other won’t. As he reloads the gun again, Dark informs the Host of the various responsibilities he will be in charge of should he win. With so many of them ‘out of commission’ so to speak, there would be a lot of slack to pull up.

Dark raises the gun to his head.

-click-

The Host is confident. Or at least, seemingly unfazed. Dark isn’t an idiot. He knows that the fumble as he takes the gun is fake. The Host isn’t nearly as helpless as he likes people to think.

-click-

To his credit though, the Host isn’t narrating, sticking to the rules just like he’d promised. It was such a shame that Dark had twisted everything in his favor.

-BANG-

The Host slumps onto the table and Dark smirks.

When it’s your turn, you shoot. That had been what Wilford had said. Though the game implied that he had to shoot at himself, nothing had ever been stipulated. Therefore, Dark was perfectly within his right to shoot another player between the eyes. A tactic he’d figured out as soon as Wilford had lost, one that he’d been able to ensure with the fact that he’d taken over the reloading of the gun.

None of the others had noticed the fact that he hadn’t spun the barrel, all of them caught up in the shock of the game. Each of the last three rounds, Dark had complete control and none of them had suspected a thing.

He places the gun on the table in front of his seat and stands, straightening himself, cracking his neck before he glances over to Wilford. “I may agree to play your asinine games, but I  _always_  play to win.”

No one responds. They’re all dead. Not for long. Soon enough the fans will bring them back. In the meantime, there’s work to do.


End file.
